


Girlhood

by hallelujah99



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, the implied abuse is marthas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28801725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallelujah99/pseuds/hallelujah99
Summary: Being a teenage girl in normal ass-America is a living hell, but being a pre-teen girl is full of its own traumas, too/Exploring brief snippets of each girls' life around ages 10-12
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Girlhood

“Way to go, Shelby! Oh you looked so beautiful up there!” There were tears in her mother’s eyes and Shelby knew she must have really done a great job. “Look at this crown, I think it’s your biggest one yet!” Her mother continued. “And look at all the age-division awards you won, what all did you get?” 

Shelby looked through the certificates in her hand and read them off “Prettiest Hair, Prettiest Smile, Prettiest Eyes and Prettiest Face.” 

“Oh you were the prettiest one up there by far. Just look at you, girlie. Your daddy is gonna be so proud.”

Shelby was proud. She had sung her heart out, hit every mark, smiled just right at all the judges. And, she supposed, been really pretty. Of course, she had spent over an hour in hair and makeup, not to mention the time spent tanning, getting her eyebrows plucked, and shaving her barely-there body hair. And of course, there was the fact she had her flipper. But all the girls had done all that, flipper included, and she was still the prettiest. Her and her mom celebrated with a trip to the Olive Garden and her mom even let her get a second bowl of pasta, which she hadn’t been allowed to do before the pageant. 

When she got home, her mother hung up one of the glamour shots from the pageant alongside the sash and crown, adding to her ever-growing collection. “Little Starz New Years Pageant- 2014-Ultimate Grand Supreme” read the plaque on the frame.

Monday morning, Shelby got ready for school and took a quick look in the mirror. She glanced between her reflection and the glamour shot. Her hair was flat and tangled, compared to the picture. Her face was plain and uneven, compared to the picture. Her eyelashes were too light and short and sparse, and her nose was a little too pointy, and her eyes were small and dull, with big dark circles under them, and her teeth, oh, that was the worst part of all. 

Shelby figured that maybe she could be pretty, under the pageant stage lights, under makeup and hair pieces and expensive dresses. But everyday, normal Shelby, she decided, was not pretty at all. 

And if she wasn’t pretty, then what the heck did she have going for her?

-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” It wasn’t like Rachel to swear, but she felt this situation called for it. She was in a stall in the school bathroom, staring at the spot of blood in her underwear. She wasn’t expecting this. Her mom had told her it probably wouldn't happen until 6th or 7th grade. But here she was, halfway through 5th, and wearing light jeans to top it off. 

She knew the middle school bathrooms had vending machines with pads and tampons, but no such luck in the elementary school. How could this happen, already? 

She knew she needed to act, though. She didn’t want Mr. Belvin sending someone in to check on her. She took a wad of the thin, cheap toilet paper and stuffed it into her underwear before going on her way. 

After an hour had passed, she raised her hand and asked to go again. 

“Weren’t you just in there?” Mr. Belvin asked.

Rachel wanted to scream. Why would he ask that? 

“Yes, but I have to go again.” She said. 

He rolled his eyes but waved her to go. It’s good he did, because when she checked, she found the toilet paper soaked through. She replaced it, this time with folded paper. 

When she asked another hour later to go, Mr. Belvin’s annoyance was obvious. “Are you trying to be funny? No, you just went.”

What was funny about going to the bathroom? Nothing, not one thing felt funny about the situation Rachel was in. 

“I really need to.” She said. A few people snickered. 

“Really Rachel? I think it can wait until lunch.” Mr. Belvin said before turning back to the board. 

Rachel pressed her legs together tightly and ignored the growing pains in her abdomen as she willed the 1-ply toilet paper to make it that long. 

_

It was April 10th, and finally, a warm day in Minnesota. The last piles of snow were still on the ground, but the warmth had everyone in a wonderfully positive mood. 

Toni ran from the lunchroom, bursting with excitement for recess. She shrugged off her jacket and threw it in the grass near the single basketball hoop at the edge of the playground and grabbed a basketball and began to practice shooting while she waited for her friends, Carson, Eric and David.

Toni ran and sunk a jump shot and landed on her feet, feeling quite proud of herself. Until she heard the laughter. Eric and David were staring at her and cackling. 

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

Eric put his hands on his chest and moved them up and down, lewdly. 

“Toni, are you wearing a  _ bra _ ?” David asked, nearly in tears from laughing. 

“No?” Toni was confused. She knew some of the other girls were but her mom hadn’t been available to take her shopping for one.

“Stop talking about that.” Carson said softly. 

“Shut up, you saw it, I know you did! Her boobs were bouncing!” Eric announced, motioning for effect.

Carson looked away silently and Toni knew she was alone. 

She looked between Eric and David, wondering who she should punch first. 

Instead, she reached for her jacket and zipped it up, sinking into it, pulling it as far as she could away from the front of her body. 

_

It was the last recess before middle school, meaning it was the last time Nora would ever have morning recess. She spent the entire recess on the swing, as she always, always did.

As she was swinging, she watched the kids around her. She watched Rachel playing kickball with a group of her friends, watched some other girls sit on top of the monkey bars to gossip, watched some boys try to spin each other as fast as possible on the tire swing. Nora never really cared for any of that stuff, the games or the gossip or the antics- she just wanted to swing, craved the feeling it gave, the rocking back and forth, a familiar comfort in a world where so little ever felt perfectly comfortable. 

“How’s it going, Nora?” Mrs. Jackson, who was on recess duty, asked her.

“I’m good, Mrs. Jackson, how are you?” Nora replied. 

She knew it was how she was supposed to respond. Until just a few weeks ago, she used to leave class once a week to go to the Mrs. Jackson’s office for speech therapy. They’d have fun together, playing games. Sometimes she’d work on fixing her R-sound. Other times, they talked about how conversations work, and “ _ I’m good, how are you?”  _ is one of the first things she learned. 

Nora could hold a conversation just fine, with an adult, anyway. She could follow those rules. It was harder with other kids. She felt like whatever she said, it was never quite the right thing. People would make a face she couldn’t quite understand, then walk away from her. 

“I miss playing Jenga with you, Nora.” Mrs. Jackson told her with a smile. 

“Why don’t I have speech anymore?” Nora asked.

Mrs. Jackson sighed and Nora felt like maybe she said the wrong thing again. 

“Well I wish you could stay, but you did such a good job and your Rs are sounding so nice that you don’t need me anymore!”

“Oh, okay.” Nora said. She decided Mrs. Jackson probably wouldn’t like it if she brought up the fact she’d overheard her parents when they got home from their meeting with Mrs. Jackson, just before she stopped going to speech.

“ _ She couldn’t say her R’s, that’s it, that’s it! I can’t believe she really thinks she needs to be evaluated for-no. This is so ridiculous. She’s not like that. She can say her R’s now, she’s done with speech, done. And we’re definitely done with that speech therapist.”  _ Her father had said to her mother in a huff, not realizing that Nora had been at the top of the stairs, listening.

Nora spent the rest of the recess swinging and thinking about the fantasyland in her latest book.

When the whistle signaled the end of recess, the other kids all headed towards the door, and Nora dragged her feet on the ground to stop the swing. She reached down and took off her left shoe, and adjusted the seam of her sock so that it was just right, before putting the shoe back on and doing the same to the other side, the way she always did.

As Nora walked in, several feet behind the rest of the kids, she wondered what it was that made her feel so different.

_

Fatin had always loved all things girly. In her basement were boxes of old princess toys, dress up clothes, and play make-up. One of her favorite things about being a cellist, or maybe her ultimate favorite, was getting to buy a fancy new dress and get her hair and makeup done every time she had a competition. 

She longed for the day her parents would allow her to wear makeup to school, or a shirt that showed off her midriff. She loved putting her bathing suit top on and strutting around her bathroom, pretending she was a Victoria’s Secret model. 

Fatin was not so into gym class. And unfortunately, that’s where she was, trying to stand off to the side while her class played soccer. It was all too rough and sweaty and intense for her.

Fatin had heard somewhere that back in the day, boys had gym class while girls had home economics class, where they’d learn to cook and sew. She thought that sounded like much more fun than running around after a ball. 

“Fatin! Get in the game!” Her gym teacher yelled. She sighed and ran in the general direction of the ball, not that the boys in her class could ever let her kick it even if she wanted to. 

“Fatin runs like a girl.” Sneered Neil Withey from the bench, where he’d been sent to cool down after whining when the other team scored. 

If her gym teacher heard him, he didn’t say anything. 

Fatin was immediately offended. “ _ Like a girl _ .” To do something like a girl was to do it poorly. Everyone knew that. 

Fatin did everything like a girl. She loved being a girl, and a girly one at that. 

Fatin continued to run around after the ball as her gym teacher requested, “ _ Like a girl”  _ on repeat through her head.

_

Leah was so excited to spend a week in New York City. Ever since her parents told her that would be their summer vacation, she’d been writing stories all about the adventures she looked forward to having there. 

They stayed in a hotel right in the center of the city, up on the 17th floor. Leah loved looking out the window at all the taxis driving by, and she understood why it was called the city that never sleeps. 

The first night they were there, her father ran out late at night to a nearby 24 hour bakery and came back with donuts. Leah felt like the luckiest girl on earth, up late, eating junk food, in NYC.

Unfortunately, the next day saw Leah’s dad in bed, complaining of a migraine. It happened, sometimes, and it sucked, but nothing could ruin Leah’s good mood and optimism. Her mother took her to see the Statue of Liberty and bought her a big slice of real New York pizza. They enjoyed the day, just mother and daughter.

When night fell, Leah’s mom ordered them room service, which was brought in on a fancy cart. Leah knew just what she wanted for dessert. 

“Mom, can you go back to that bakery and get some more donuts?”

Her mom made a face. “Not tonight, sweetie.”

Leah pouted. “But why?”

“I can go get some tomorrow.” Leah’s dad said from the bed.

“Why can’t you just go get some now, mom?” Leah’s mouth was watering just thinking about the cinnamon sugar on her lips. 

“It’s just, it’s not really that safe. We’re safe here in the hotel, but the city street at night, isn’t so safe.” 

Leah looked down at the sidewalk. 

“Then why did dad go?”

Her mother sighed “It’s not safe for a woman to go alone, I mean.” she explained it like it was a chore, like it was something Leah should have already known. 

Leah could tell it was time to drop it, even though she still was craving donuts. 

She stayed perched in the window, looking down at the street and wondering what it was about women that made it so they couldn’t walk the city streets at night. 

_

Dot’s mom was never really around. When she was little, her dad used to say when people get sick in their bodies, then the doctors can usually help, but sometimes people get sick in their minds and it can be harder to fix something like that. 

So, it was just Dot and her dad. He was her best friend. They’d ride bikes, go fishing, listen to music and dance around the kitchen. Most of her friends at school were boys, and she had never minded “being one of the guys.”

Until one day, at the beginning of 6th grade. She sat down next to her friend Nathan. They began chatting about the school’s chicken nuggets, when suddenly, Nathan stopped mid-sentence. 

“What?” Dot asked. 

“Shelby, she looks...”

Dot turned to look. Shelby’s blonde hair was lighter, her eyelashes were covered in mascara and her lips shone with some recently applied gloss.

Dot had never once thought about wearing makeup, but watching the way Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off of Shelby, something inside Dot twisted. Nathan had never looked at her like that. 

That weekend, Dot pocketed some eyeliner and eyeshadow at Walmart, and spent the evening trying to get it to work for her. It didn’t feel like her. Even once she figured out how to make it look decent, it felt so unnatural to her. 

She scrubbed the makeup off her face and wondered if it was because her mom wasn’t around, maybe she wouldn’t be such a tomboy. Maybe she’d enjoy getting her nails done more than getting her hands dirty. 

She simply wasn’t meant to live that pageant lifestyle Shelby and her friends fit into. When she was younger, she hadn’t cared. But now, she realized that boys like Nathan will only ever look at girls like Shelby. 

Dot wished someone would look at her. 

_

Martha tried to love everyone she met. 

Everyone had so much goodness inside of them, and Martha could always see it.

Martha trusted that whatever was done was always done with best intentions. 

“ _ Doctors are helpers. _ ” She reminded herself over and over again on the car ride home.

Years later, when she was working on a project for AP Psych, she came across something about some theory that when a person goes through some type of traumatic experience, large or small, it can change their growth and affect them, possibly for the rest of their lives.

Martha closed out of the window and emailed her teacher to request a different project topic. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure how I wanted to address Martha's but I hope I did it respectfully, as well as the rest of them. 
> 
> Reminder that Shelby says in the show she's been wearing her flipper daily since age 11, so in her section, she wasn't wearing her flipper to school yet. 
> 
> Also I had this planned out before I found out about the shit Helena said, and thought about changing it but decided not to. (if you don't know what I mean, don't worry about it)
> 
> Anyway, I'd always love a comment! I wish I had more time to write these days, hopefully next month I will


End file.
